I'm Sorry
by RzPz922
Summary: Summer, Morty, and Rick return late from an adventure one night, but the exhaustion is starting to take a pretty heavy toll on the kids. Rated T for language and implied mental illnesses.


_/I had to... Process my emotions after the Rick and Morty season 2 finale. So here, have a crappy oneshot. This takes place in a reality where the family DIDN'T go to Bird Person's wedding, so don't get confused. Enjoy!/_

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Summer often lay awake at night, haunted by the things she'd seen. They kept her wide awake, horrid memories pounding inside her skull. She couldn't close her eyes at night without seeing people cut into bloody cubes or melting ghost-babies or what-have-you. She never said anything about it, though. She wasn't a regular adventurer like Morty was. He had to have seen worse stuff, and he seemed to be okay. Hell, he'd laughed at her for being afraid during a race war. He was becoming numb, and Summer was scared for him.

The stars twinkled up above and the frost on the grass glistened in the moonlight. Rick parked the ship in the garage and Summer and Morty stumbled out, rubbing their eyes. Morty tripped over a crack in the floor and Summer helped him through the door. She glanced back as Rick took a swig from his flask (full of whiskey that he'd mixed with coffee earlier earlier) and sat down at his workbench. _Jesus, does that man ever sleep?_

Summer stumbled to the bathroom and pulled her hair out of her ponytail, letting bright orange locks tumble down her shoulders. She stared at herself in the mirror. Her eyes were bloodshot with circles darker than the night surrounding them. She had scars and small cuts all over her face and her hair was a mess. Strands stood on end and there were chunks so tangled she sometimes considered shaving it all of rather than waste the extra time trying to brush it. She elected to take a shower in the morning, though, putting her hairbrush down and picking up a bottle of sleeping pills. She took two, brushed her teeth, got into her pajamas, and collapsed into bed. She breathed out slowly and allowed her eyes to close. They were so tired, nothing felt better than closing them.

It was a quiet night. Nothing could be heard but the soft hum of her air vent. Even the cicadas were quiet. Summer hoped it would stay that way. She pulled her blankets up over her shoulders and turned on her side, facing her door. A soft creak came from outside the room. Summer opened one eye, then closed it again after a moment. _Must be hearing things again._ Usually it was screaming and gunshots, though, not floorboards creaking. A minute passed, and the sound came again. Her door opened ever-so-slightly. Summer sat up. At last the door opened all the way and there stood Morty, looking just as tired and miserable as her.

"Morty?" Summer pushed her covers back.

"Hey, Summer... Could I, um... Could I sleep in here with you tonight?" Morty asked, rubbing his eyes.

"Morty, you're fourteen. Aren't you a little old for that?"

Summer could hide how tired she was with makeup and a smile, but she couldn't hide that crack in her voice. Her poor brother deserved so much more care than he was getting. Rick was emotionally constipated, so that wasn't happening. Their parents would flip if they found out exactly what they'd been doing. So that fell to Summer. She watched Morty sit quietly in her doorway.

"Morty..." She sighed.

"I can't be alone tonight," He whispered, head in his hands. "I can't do that anymore. I haven't had a full night's sleep in months."

He sniffled. Summer jumped to her feet and rushed to her little brother's side. Tears trickled down his cheeks. Summer couldn't hide the ones forming in her eyes anymore. She pulled Morty into her arms and let him cry. For a kid who was always acting so smart and so tough, he was so small and vulnerable. Summer had thought adventuring with Rick had taken a toll on her, but she clearly hadn't been paying attention to Morty lately. He was so skinny and frail from constantly falling asleep during meals. So tired and weak. His eyes were redder than the blood moon had been a few days ago. His worry lines were too deep for a fourteen-year-old.

Morty clung tightly to Summer's waist, sobbing into her shoulder. Some of her tears dripped onto the back of his neck. She cried much quieter, but she shook much more.

"I've killed so many people..." Morty whispered.

"None of that was your fault," Summer murmured. "We were defending ourselves."

"High-schoolers shouldn't have body counts."

Morty's voice broke into another fit of tears. Summer sighed and held him tighter. He was right. Her sweet, innocent little brother had killed more people than even he could keep track of. That was fucked up. _He_ had to be fucked up with that kind of record. There were so many things he pushed down inside him until he couldn't hold them in anymore, it was scary when they finally all came out. Summer wondered how many times he'd broken down crying by himself, when there was nobody to comfort him. She was scared he was turning into Rick. Cynical, emotionally detached. This breakdown, fortunately, proved her otherwise.

He was going to need serious therapy, though, if he ever wanted to live normally again. Hell, maybe they both would. They wouldn't get any help from Rick or their parents, though. Once again, this duty fell to Summer, who was starting to feel her sleeping pills kick in. Her eyes grew heavy. She started to get up, but Morty tightened his grip around her.

"Don't leave," He sniffled.

"I'm not, I'm not." She pulled him gently to his feet. "C'mon."

She led him to the bed and climbed in, leaving a space for him. He hesitated a moment, wiping tears from his cheeks, but he joined Summer when she nodded.

"Goodnight, Summer." Morty mumbled into his pillow.

"Goodnight, Morty."

Neither of them saw or heard Rick come to the door. He stood there for a minute, reflecting. He'd come from the garage when he heard crying and saw Summer comforting Morty. He sighed and leaned against the wall, sinking down to the floor. That feeling of shittiness he knew all too well filled his stomach again. The last thing he wanted was for either Summer or Morty to turn into him. He knew how he was, and he hated himself. Being around the Council of Ricks was enough to prove that. He'd already watched one Morty turn into him. These kids deserved better. He'd never meant to fuck them up so bad, especially not Summer. It was expected that Morties would have mental problems, but there were so few Ricks as close to their Summers as this one was. Rick twisted his flask slowly open and took a long, slow drink.

"Goodnight, kids."

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 _/BOY OH BOY THAT SURE WAS FUN WASN'T IT. No one ever goes into Morty's relationship with Summer, so I figured I would. You're welcome./_


End file.
